


What Men Just Did

by inkstrain (orphan_account)



Series: Men [2]
Category: Alice Nine
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inkstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you can't go back, do the next best thing: move forward. The sequel to <em>What Men Don't Do.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Men Just Did

_**Guilt has a funny way of eating you from the inside out.** _

 

When Saga walks into the studio after a four-day off following the end of tour and finds Tora missing, he gets a funny feeling in his stomach.

 

“Called in sick the last minute, a bit under the weather he said.” Was Nao’s reply when he asks where the rhythm guitarist is, and Saga’s stomach heaves with unease as he absently watches the drummer call Hiroto and Shou to cancel today’s rehearsals. Even though he tries to convince himself it’s because of something he ate, he knows the sudden butterflies in his stomach has nothing to do with breakfast.

 

It’s because of what took place the night after their post-live drinking celebration.

 

—   
_“Well let me just show you what men don’t fucking do!”_

 

 _And, Saga will never know what possessed him, but he does the next thing he does on a whim, perhaps the effect of being overly emotional. He grabs the back of Tora’s head and kisses him hard, all tongue and teeth and pain._  
—

 

When he steps out of the studio it's already half past nine, and Saga finds himself heading home with several purchases from a convenience store. He doesn’t want to think much, and these items might help.

   
 

_**It’s a disease that starts somewhere, although it doesn’t really matter if you figure out where it began or not.** _

   
 

Saga stares at the phone in his hand for the longest time, an empty bottle and a shot glass lying on the floor beside him. A second bottle is on his other hand, half empty. He drinks straight from it and winces slightly, oblivious of Chiko who’s watching him watching his cell phone.

 

It’s a pretty funny sight, if only there’s anything funny going on inside Saga’s head.

 

 _This_. All this because of a kiss that friends aren’t supposed to share or – heck – that men to begin with are not supposed to, friendship aside. Saga regrets it, but there are things that cannot be undone. What he did that night is one of them.

 

—   
_Even if he tries to, words cannot express the anger and frustration Saga puts into the kiss. A kiss that Tora responds to._

 

 _And just like that, Saga has him all figured out._  
—

 

Saga’s mom finds him passed out on his bedroom floor when she gets home that night. She helps his son onto his bed, tucks him in, and places the cell phone her son’s been clutching on the space beside Saga’s pillow.

 

She doesn’t see the half finished message intended to be sent to Tora as he picks up two empty vodka bottles and a shot glass from the floor.

   
 

_**By that time, guilt’s done with its spreading, just like lethal cancer cells invading every inch of you it can from within.** _

 

The next day consists of several interviews and a radio guesting – minus Tora.

 

“Still not feeling well,” Nao explains when Saga hears Hiroto ask. They’re on the break room of the radio station, waiting for their turn and being entertained with caffeine, snacks, and cigarettes. “He already went to the doctor; he’s been advised to rest for now.”

 

What Nao says is complete, utter bullshit in Saga’s opinion, but he does not say anything as he pretends to focus on his cigarette, cradling an aching head.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Saga looks up at the question and finds Shou peering at him in concern. He manages a half grin and nods, pushing the sunglasses he has up on his hairline back on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters, reaching for his coke bottle and drinking from it. “Just a little hung over, that’s all.”

 

The rest of the day finds the Alice Nine bassist in a zombie-like state, holding onto his cell phone for dear life as though expecting something. The message he tried to compose yesterday is saved on his outbox, unsent and still unfinished.

   
 

_**Guilt makes you rot until you’re nothing but an indiscernible mess of remorse and shame.** _

   
 

The third day of Tora’s no-show is the last straw.

 

Saga receives the text message just as he’s leaving the house, and he’s finally reached his peak. Without thinking, he dials the older man’s number and then panics when he realizes what he’s doing. It doesn’t matter though – he doesn’t even get a ring.

 

Tora’s phone is turned off.

 

—   
_“Well let me just show you what men don’t fucking do!”_

 

_A kiss that Tora responds to._

 

 _Saga has him all figured out._  
— 

 

It takes two bottles of vodka (again) before Saga finally admits to himself that he actually knows what needs to be done, blood and liquor pounding on his veins at the thought. He smells and looks drunk but he doesn’t give a damn, doesn’t even notice the disapproving looks he receives on his way to Tora’s apartment just because he’s in this state at noon.

 

And then he gets there, and Saga stands in front of the door for the longest time without knocking, unsure of what to do.

 

“Saga?”

 

To say he’s surprised is an understatement. Saga literally jumps when he hears his name, and when he turns toward the direction of the elevators, he finds Tora standing just a few feet away, sharing his expression, carrying a convenience store plastic bag containing god-knows-what. It takes an effort to get his composure back, but Saga’s drunk – it’s not hard to switch moods when you’re head is swimming like his is now.

 

“Tora. We need to talk.”

 

Saga senses more than sees Tora’s own mood change at his words. When the older man replies, his tone has changed too. It’s toneless and flat, so Tora-like but not so that Saga aches at the pinching in his chest when he realizes what they lost _that night_. This is the same, but things have changed, have taken a new meaning.

 

“What’s there to talk about?”

 

Saga tilts his head to the side and looks around, past Tora and then behind him. “You sure you want to me to tell you what we need to talk about here? In the hallway?” he asks incredulously, and he makes a point because the tiger sighs and concedes, walking past him and opening the door with a fumbling of keys. Without looking back, Tora steps inside and Saga follows, closing the door behind him.

 

“You’re drunk,” Tora says, flicking a few lights within the apartment on. Saga doesn’t answer, not immediately at least. Instead, he stands in the middle of the living room, watching the other move about, mind reeling. He’s here to talk, but how to begin? Go from there, start with Tora’s comment maybe?

 

It’s probably the liquor that’s talking for him, but it’s helpful. At least he won’t have to think – he just has to speak. “I’m surprised you aren’t.” He answers as Tora pauses in his task of unloading whatever’s in the plastic bag he’s brought home. The older man turns around and meets his gaze levelly at his next words. “I mean, after what happened between us, liquor’s like, the only thing that has kept me sane the past few days.”

 

Tora doesn’t say anything at once, but there is a shaking on his free hand that wasn’t there before. Saga notices this. Anger, nervousness? Both, maybe? He can’t tell, but he thinks he knows what to say, now that he’s begun, now that he’s getting a reaction from the tiger.

 

“You know, it’s really weird,” he steps forward and closes the distance between them without breaching personal space, at least not yet. “I should be the one staying away from you after that night, not the other way around.”

 

He watches Tora swallow before answering. “If you’re here to make fun of what you discovered, you know the way out Saga.” Tora replies, his gaze cutting through the bassist’s. And then it’s over – Tora turns around and goes back to his task, getting things out of his precious plastic bag.

 

“I’m not making fun of you.”

 

Tora once again pauses in his actions. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” And now the shaking’s in the rhythm guitarist’s voice too, and Saga knows if he doesn’t say what he wants to next, he’ll be kicked out and there goes his chance at redemption from the mucky guilt he’s been drowning in for days on end now.

  

“Kiss me again.”

  

The silence that follows Saga’s words is electrifying, and when Tora turns around with a confused look on his face, the shaking in his voice has worsened. 

“What?” he whispers, staring in disbelief at Saga who shrugs, manages to be casual despite the erratic thudding of his heart within his chest. “You heard me the first time I’m sure, I don’t think I have to repeat myself.” And this is when he closes the distance between them fully, Saga’s hand careful but sure as he places it at the back of Tora’s neck to pull him close for a kiss. And this second one is affectionate and gentle, and…

 

“ _Fuck you_.” Tora whispers, the shaking in his voice now a tremor in his entire body as he doesn’t kiss back, as he stands still, probably fighting the urge to return the action. Saga doesn’t relent, doesn’t give up though – if the other man didn’t really want this, he would be pushing him away.

 

He whispers in Tora’s ear. “That’s what you want to do to me, right?” And when he receives no answer, he continues. “No one’s stopping you. I’m right here.”

 

Saga soon finds his hair being fisted as Tora looks him straight in the eye, still shaking visibly. “Why are you doing this?” is the hissed question he gets, and he grabs the collar of Tora’s shirt, speaks through their touching lips.

 

“Because this is my fault. Because I want to make it up to you. Because this is the only way I can think of for us to move forward and forget about this, after it’s over and done with, and go back to normal.” And this time as he leans in to kiss Tora again, he is met halfway – and the hands that find his waist are familiar and foreign both, calloused fingers brushing against his skin, struggling and fighting to remove his shirt as they stumble against objects and a door, toward the bedroom.

  

With his shirt discarded on the floor, Tora pulls away, and Saga watches him staring at his half nakedness. He’s just about to ask what’s wrong, but the older man suddenly flops down the side of his bed, fisting his hair in his hands, eyes tightly shut.

 

“Fuck… I’m _disgusting_. Why are you letting me do this Saga?” and there is a desperation in Tora’s voice as he looks back up to stare at him with haunted eyes.

 

Saga’s answer to that is plain and simple as he straddles the older man on the bed, leading those hands to wrap around his waist. “Because you have to get this off your system,” he whispers, kissing Tora again, this time more fiercely, more forcefully than earlier.

 

Tongue darting out to part hesitant lips, Saga pushes Tora down on the bed with him on top, moving to whisper directly beside his ear. “Come on Tora. Get _me_ off your system.” And perhaps that is all the older man needs. A beckoning, a direct order from Saga to let go.

 

In a quick movement, Saga finds their positions reversed, and Tora hovers over him for a few seconds, just staring at his face as if looking for something, before their lips meet again, their clothes coming off soon after, inexperienced hands exploring and touching forbidden places.

 

There is pain, and Saga’s name is whispered over and over again as the bed creaks, as they fist bed sheets, as Tora’s calloused fingers drive him over the edge. And in this moment of all white, of their pleasured moans, as he opens his eyes just in time to meet Tora’s lustful gaze, he thinks maybe, just maybe…

   
 

In Saga’s outbox, the unsent, still unfinished message read: _I’m sorry. I think I’m in–_


End file.
